


The Summoning

by hydrasplatling



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demon Summoning, Light breath play, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Summoning, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrasplatling/pseuds/hydrasplatling
Summary: Some dark magics are meant to be meddled with.
Kudos: 36





	The Summoning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dolarhydes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolarhydes/gifts).



A thick, black book, bound in human skin, weathered and worn yet preserved remarkably well for its age. Within it, taboo magics handwritten by brilliant mages long dead, scorned by prestigious sorcerers all over the world. A thick, black book, pried open with careful and curious hands, the spine cracked, pages awash in an orange glow underneath pulsing candle flame. And a young mage, tracing the shape of the summoning circle, committing each insignia to memory. The circle had to be absolutely perfect, every symbol meticulously drawn, or the summoning would fail.

Syl’s gaze flicks from the book, to the chalk drawing on the floor of his room, back to the book. He murmurs, “Close… But I think…” His words drift away as he gently wipes away the curve of a rune to redraw its shape more parabolic, and to sharpen the edge of another. Eyes back to the book, to the floor. It’s been almost half an hour of this nitpicking- this circle would be the most complex summoning Syl would ever perform and his overwhelming excitement made his fingers tremble, thus costing him a few more corrections. Double, triple, quadruple checking. A long drawn out silence before, “Perfect! I impress even myself. This will work.” 

The heft of the book makes his side table rattle in concern. From the drawer he pulls vials filled with miscellaneous contents, such as blood, dried skin ground to a fine powder, poisonous herbs, and bug remains. He arranges them accordingly, pouring the blood out into the circle, dusting the powder, et cetera. When he’s finished, kneeling just outside the circle, he marvels at his work. He can’t help but grin deviously.

He places his hands gently over a section of the circle, exhaling all worry, all thoughts, all else, through parted lips. He recites. Every word practiced well, like a fluent speaker of the language of the night. The circle alights in a white light, then shifts to blue, to red, to green, following the enunciation of his voice. His heart skips a beat, but he does not falter. _You will come to me,_ he thinks, a shiver snaking along his spine as the room grows cooler, _I will bring you to me._

The room rattles. The candlelight dances invitingly. The light flashes in bursts of purple, yellow, and red. Syl’s voice raises, the snarling of each word reverberating in his chest, the air around him thick and heavy. A line drawn taut, tension building, and then, 

_Snap._

The light in the room dies, leaving him in darkness. He panics for a moment- had he done something wrong? But before he can ponder too heavily, the candles burn hot and red once again, and when Syl can see before him again, the entire circle has been drenched in a blackness. He squints, and it seems to ooze forward, like tar. It bubbles, sending ripples of black gunk rolling forward, pooling around his knees, and he shoots up to stand at a tense attention. “You…” it leaves him without filtering through his mind first. 

It answers; long, black, dripping tendrils pull forth from the center of the pool, stretching up and squirming hesitantly. Some slam heavily into the ground, feeling around to get a bearing on their new surroundings. Syl huffs out a strained laugh, “I did it. You came. I knew you would.” The tendrils find his form, feeling his calf, brushing against his side, and the ooze tingles his skin and warms it so. Syl picks up one of the tendrils and holds it firm, squeezing its gelatinous form as it writhes between his fingers around his wrist. He pulls, and it does not resist, simply stretches out to the desired length. “You’ll do perfectly,” he hums, a tendril tracing along his jaw. 

The air grows stale around his mouth and he furrows his brow for a moment, before a gurgling noise echoes deeply, seemingly coming from every corner of the room. A dialect Syl has never heard before, so ancient, so dark and mystical a tongue that it buzzes within his veins when the thing speaks. The words are completely unintelligible to him, but he can _feel_ the intent as if it was suspended above him like a guillotine. The creature knows what he wants. It tells him exactly what it will do. A tendril slips underneath his shirt sleeve, crawling toward his chest.

A shaky exhale, “Then you will do exactly what _I_ want. I brought you here for _my_ pleasure. Do as I wish.”

He licks his lips, surprised at the dryness of them- was it nervousness or a result of this beast’s power? He can’t know and it frightens and excites him all the same. A tendril traces along his spine and sends a chill all the way into his core. His hands tremble as they reach for the top button of his garment, commanding, “Back, while I undress.” 

The tentacles retract from him, the ooze seeping forth toward his bed, the tendrils worming restlessly in the sheets, incredibly impatient- Syl wouldn’t admit it, but it was reflective of his own attitude as he disrobes, heart hammering in his chest as he takes a bit too long wrestling off his shirt and undergarments and finally steps forward, the ooze underneath him sticking to his feet, and dripping back off into the void. 

He lays on the bed, feeling slightly vulnerable being so exposed, biting at his lip to keep himself grounded. The tendrils move leisurely back onto him, slowly coiling around his arms and legs, brushing gently along his cheek, lightly rubbing at his lower back, massaging along his abdomen. He struggles to steady his breath, every inch of his skin where the ooze sticks warming just so, setting all his delicate nerves ablaze. “Be slow,” he barks at the creature, despite the growing blush at his cheeks lowering his intimidation factor considerably.

It doesn’t retort, simply continues its work, tightening around his thighs just to squeeze before releasing and massaging them, gradually raising his arms above his head, pulling his legs apart. He finds himself taking in deeper breaths, battling the cloud of dizziness beginning to smoke out his ability to focus. That tingle rides along his side, around to his stomach, then suddenly between his legs, drawing a gasp from him. “ _Oh_ ,” drawn out and hot his mouth forms the phrase, the tentacle tracing up and down his pussy, flicking up at the end as it reaches the very tip, before pressing back down as it drags along the length of it. 

Two tentacles by his sides stretch upward, the bulk of them dripping off the ends to leave much thinner tendrils, which lower and coil atop his chest. The ends move precisely, circling around his nipples, one even slowly bending underneath, and quickly flicking up, drawing a scandalized gasp from Syl. “Hey! I didn’t say you could…” the sentence is robbed from his mouth- one tentacle curls around his throat with a quiet, yet firm promise, and another between his legs begins to circle slowly around his clit. 

He sighs, his protest melting from his lips, hips instinctively rising to push forward into the motion- the tentacle replies by doubling down, rubbing right along the bottom of his clit. Syl bites down on his lip, trying and failing miserably to contain a moan, head lulling back and eyes slipping shut. The tentacle around his neck tightens around the sides, and his breath quickens, white noise buzzing in his head. 

The beast makes a thunderous noise-- _laughing._

A complaint formulates in Syl’s mind, accompanied by a quirk of his lip, but again it’s swiftly contested by the thing’s quick wit, tentacles pulling up taut and spreading his legs to make way for another tentacle to press firmly at his entrance. It finds little resistance there, easily sliding forth at a slow, deliberate pace, causing Syl to arch his back and twist his fist into the sheets below. 

“ _God…_ Ah, probably shouldn’t say that in front of _you,_ ” he quips, lifting his head and tilting his chin up to catch a glimpse of the dripping tentacle thrusting inside him, reaching deep inside and drawing out- he watches the tentacle swells a bit more each time it draws out, filling him up more and more until it’s just the right width, stretching him out and pressing up, dragging the length of it against that perfect spot. Syl’s legs tremble, head falling back once again with a very pleased sigh, punctuated by a light hum as he licks his lips. 

He struggles with focusing on the different sensations all along his body: the thin tendrils pulling and flicking his nipples, the tight, unyielding grip around his wrists and thighs, the tentacle toying with his clit, alternating between light, teasing pressure and massaging it in circles, and the thick tentacle fucking him hard and deep, not giving him so much as a moment of rest to regain his composure. He is so utterly outmatched. Every inch of him is alight with sensation. 

His wrists are pulled up and pressed together above his head, and the tentacle around his throat tips his chin up, his hazy gaze refocusing to center on the tentacle hanging before him, black ooze dripping onto his cheek as it reaches forward. His eyes widen with realization and his jaw falls slack, opening with compliance as the tentacle lays itself on his tongue, Syl’s lips wrapped around it. He can’t help but whine as it pushes forth, filling his mouth and using it as it pleases. The voice of the beast rings all throughout his body, all encompassing, and praises him. _How good, how obedient, how completely shameless._ Syl sucks and licks at the tentacle, leaning forward to allow it to slip in that much further, his eyes rolling back. 

Being fucked from both ends, body still tingling from the ooze, goosebumps cropped up all along his skin- it’s all _so much._ He thinks about everything yet nothing at all, thoughts too fast to process or too slow to discern, but the one thing he does know for sure is that he’s completely engulfed in pleasure. His core is white-hot and burning so incessantly, the tendril inside him teasing those flames out with every thrust, his legs trembling to hoist himself up and invite it even deeper, and god it accepts the offer. His toes curl up, the tentacle inside picking up the pace, the other rubbing his clit up and down, following the restless squirming of Syl’s hips without missing a beat, a coil wound so tight in the pit of his stomach unravelling all at once- his breath labored, his desperate moans stifled, his shaking hips held down by the tendrils around them. 

Everything is still for a moment, a wet pop as the tentacle pulls from his mouth to allow him to suck in gasps of air, the others following suit by drawing out. His vision starts to clear and his mind unfogging, “My word, you’re, you’re absolutely incredible, I— Uh!” 

_I’m not finished._ The intent fills his body, the tendrils tightening their grip and suddenly lifting him off the bed, which causes him to squirm in surprise. Effortlessly, the creature turns him, stomach pointed down, arms pulled taut behind him, legs spread apart. A bit of repositioning with the tentacles melting and reshaping, a thick tentacle laps up and down along his pussy, causing Syl to twitch from the sparks of sensation that come from it. “Oh my god,” he mumbles breathlessly, trying to hold his head up and failing, staring hazily down at the black pool underneath him. 

He barely gets any time for respite- the tentacle between his legs pushes forward, starting to pump in and out at a steady pace. Slurred moans and whimpers waterfall from Syl’s lips, along with a line of drool following the shape of his chin, tongue peeking out from his lips. The tentacle swells even more, and the ends of Syl’s fingernails dig into his palms, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, desperately trying to keep his mind grounded with these pricks of pain among the whirlpool of pleasure he’s trapped in. 

Soon there’s deep pressure along his clit, the merciless rubbing and massaging just as before, and Syl’s whole body tightens in a knot. That smoldering heat, his body aching for release is back but burning anew, so close and yet so far, he feels as though his orgasm is inching away each time he gets a little bit closer, he feels his eyes start to tear up.

“Please,” he begs, mouth moving on pure instinct, pure _need,_ “Please let me cum. I need it so bad, _fuck_ that’s so much, I just- Please- Please don’t stop, _don’t you dare fucking stop!_ ”

His begging is quickly reduced to incomprehensible noises as that heat becomes all-consuming; his toes curling, hands balled into fists, hips squirming, his moans choked and high-pitched and even a tear falling down the apple of his cheek. He comes again, and is completely awash with relief and a sense of satisfaction that reaches every nerve ending, finally granting him control of his breathing, allowing him to come back down. 

Literally. He is lowered from the suspension, placed gently back on the bed. When he presses his legs together, sticky and damp, there’s a raw ache that races through him, causing him to sigh. The beast then seeps back from whence it came, and Syl squints at the smugness of their tone when they tell him,

_I’m sure we’ll meet again._

Shame alights on Syl’s face. Bitterly, though with promise, he replies.

“We will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Much love and many thanks to my friend Apollo for commissioning me, this piece was an absolute joy to write, and I sincerely hope you enjoy it!


End file.
